Chapter 5
The ride to the house was disturbingly silent. Sam stared out the window most of the way, deliberately ignoring Al's concerned gaze. The older man clenched his jaw against Sam's stubbornness, steering into the driveway and turning off the ignition. "Sam..."
Before another word came from his lips, the younger man was out of the car, caning his way to the door. Al followed, his expression stiffening. Sam refused to listen to even simple reasoning, Al thought, unlocking the door while Sam waited. As soon as they entered, the younger man made a beeline for the bath, and Al slumped at the table. There was more to the silence than Sam's resentment at having his work disturbed.
The older man's head snapped up as he heard the bathroom door open and Sam's cane upon the floor. More than anything, Al wanted to grab his lover and sort the entire mess out, apologize for each word said in anger, anything to remove the vacant expression from Sam's eyes. Deciding, he got up and went to the bedroom.
Sam was standing in front of the doors that led to the pool, clad in a pair of worn running pants, his bare upper body pressed against the glass. He looked defeated and angry at the same time, his lips a thin, tight line.
Sighing, Al went over, wrapping his arms from behind the spare waist, pressing his face against Sam's smooth back. The other man didn't move from the embrace, only stiffened, a tremble quaking him from head to toe.
"I was going to leave you." The words came from Sam's lips unerringingly, practically breathing each syllable. "How can you stand there and love me after that?"
"I would've gone into the Accelerator with you this time." Al closed his eyes against what it took him to say the words. "I would've dived into the blue light and dragged you back, if that's what it would've taken. There's nothing on this Earth that would have taken you away again. You're burned out-tired. God, Sam, you weren't thinking rationally." Increasing the pressure around the other man's waist, Al felt as if he held him any tighter he could keep him in this place forever. "You're a grown man, and as stubborn as I am. I couldn't con you, or beat you senseless. I had to wait, give you breathing room. If I had paid closer attention you wouldn't be in the shape you're in now, Sam."
Easing out of Al's arms, Sam turned away, reaching for his cane. "I'm fine, just very tired and achey. My head hurts. Do we have any more of those pills?"
"Another headache?" Al snapped, alarmed. His hands moved towards Sam's face and were immediately brushed aside before he could get a closer look at the other man.
"Don't go overboard," Sam reiterated, just as another stab of sharp pain lanced through his eyes.
"I take it you didn't tell Swann about this little problem?"
"It's nothing," Sam whispered, just as he slid to the floor, fingers pressed over his temples.
Horrified, Al caught him, holding the man close for a moment before pulling the clenched hands away from Sam's face. His expression was creased in pain, every line spelling deeper hurt. "My leg went numb," Sam groaned. "Like pins and needles, then, nothing."
"Great." Getting up, Al went to the phone, making a quick call to Swann, Sam's physician in Greg's absence. The reporters were still out there, somewhere, and Sam needed no further trouble from that bunch. He rushed back to Sam's side, worried out of his mind.
Lying on his side, Sam was out cold. Al debated moving him to the bed, and, instead, tossed a blanket over the rounded shoulders and sat by him on the floor. Every moment, he kept his hand in the tawny hair, fingering and smoothing each warm strand in an attempt to comfort him.
The moment Swann arrived, Al rushed to the front door and jogged the physician back to the bedroom, quickly explaining everything that had happened, especially Sam's complaint that his head had hurt. Once Swann performed a quick exam, he backed away from the still unconscious man, shaking his head.
"Same as before," the doctor said, hardening each word with harsh reality. "Just like when he first came home. His neural circuits haven't held up well under the strain. I need another brain scan, but I think he simply lost more motor function on his left side. It doesn't seem to react to stimuli the way it should. The headache is stress related, and probably occurred the moment short circuiting re-occurred. There's nothing I can do except prescribe medication and make sure you get him the hell out of here. You mentioned Canada?"
"Yes. I have a place up there."
"I hope it's remote and quiet. As far away from people as possible. You seem to be the only person he trusts around him, for now anyway. You and Dr. Matthews." Frowning, Swann noted a sour expression that touched Al's face briefly, and dismissed. Undoubtedly, Matthews had a personal problem with the Admiral, but it was none of his affair. "Get him out of here. Admiral. Soon. If you don't, he'll end up in a hospital, a real one. They'll be too much damage for the Team to repair it at the Project."
"I'll make the arrangements," Al said, determination forming his plans-whether Sam liked it or not.
"He may not be able to walk for a day or two, even a week. I don't know. I need further tests to judge that. I can have someone send you a chair he can use to get around with, or just let him utilize the canes he had before. Either way, he'll be in bad shape, and you might be frustrated, but that's life. Sam Beckett was fully aware of this risk, and knew enough to not push himself."
"And you say this condition may last just a few days?"
"Or longer. It depends on how he learns to relax, or if he plays stubborn. I'm telling you. Admiral, he'll lose more than his motor function if he keeps up at this pace."
Once Swann had left, Al let himself collapse on the soft leather couch and give himself time to think. Getting a private jet was no problem; Tony, and old Navy flyer he knew from his days in 'Nam, owed him a few. He'd have to call up to Calgary and see if he could send someone out to clean up the place, prepare it for his and Sam's arrival after years of disuse. Hell, he hadn't even seen the cabin for years, but there was a family living nearby who wrote him periodically, and kept wandering vagrants out.
Grudgingly, he pushed up from his comfortable position before he fell asleep. With the phone in his lap, he'd made several phone calls, started the ball rolling, feeling better at Tony's breezy, "Whenever you're ready." The people living near the cabin were glad to check the place out, giving themselves an excuse to get the kids out of the house to dust and sweep out the cabin and make sure lights and phone were turned on. Al had only met them a couple of times, each meeting a good experience. Trustworthy people, he'd thought, and trusted his own opinion.
Checking on Sam, Al found the spread that lay over him was still as smooth as it had been when he and Swann had dropped it over the still form. Sam slept as if dead, on his belly, arms spread over the length of the bed, mouth lax, legs sprawled under the satiny layers. Touching the smooth cheek for a moment, Al wished Sam would rouse for just enough time to eat and take his pills.
Leaving the unconscious man briefly, Al took a much needed hot shower, slipping into comfortable pajamas before easing his way into their bed. Curling against Sam's form, he lifted one sleep-heavy arm to fall over him. The movement woke the sleeping friend. "Head hurt?"
"Not bad." His heart was racing, that strange numb feeling coursing down his left side. "I tried to get out of bed and... couldn't."
"Don't sweat it, kid," Al said, trying to sound casual. "Swann says it's because you pushed yourself. You're a little... off-line. Just a day or two, maybe a little more, and you'll be back to normal."
"Can you help me? I need to use the bathroom and I..." The words tapered off.
Assisting as best he could, Al tried hard to not look as concerned as he felt. The rails he'd had installed in the bathroom came in handy. Sam gripped them as he made his way to the toilet and Al left him alone so he'd have a modicum of privacy.
"I made some arrangements so we can leave when you want-in the next couple of days. We'll fly up and..."
"Where?" Sam looked disgruntled and stubborn again, his hair flopped every which way, eyes squinting in the light from the bath.
"I told you before. Canada. The Great White North, although this time of year, we'll have to look for snow."
Using the wall as a brace, Sam plodded his way past Al. The older man didn't hesitate to notice the obstinate look on the kid's face. "We are going, bud; nothing is stopping us. I'm going to get you back on your feet if it kills you."
"And I don't have a choice."
"None. Are you hungry?"
"Ravenous. I think." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam pressed his fingertips against his forehead, wincing.
"Well, I think I can manage a couple of sandwiches. We got some ham, and all that turkey, cheese..."
"I don't want to go."
"You're whining, Sam. The owls are not what they seem. It's getting on my nerves. You want the straight poop? Or do you want to let the whole thing drop like a bad dream?"
"Straight."
"I don't want to see you going to the trauma center, and Swann seems to think that's where you're headed if you don't get your butt out of New Mexico and take a break. You're lucky your problems are only temporary. How bad are you going to get if I let you go back and work? I'm not going to let you kill yourself, or end up in the veggie ward of some private hospital. Now, that I've cleared the air, I'm making you a late night snack, then off to bed again. No arguments."
Sam just looked depressed, letting Al's words sink in for a change as the other man went off to the kitchen. Before he'd Leaped, he could handle three days on his feet with a snap of his fingers, nothing that a little sleep couldn't clear up. Now, he felt as if he were back to step one, and couldn't move a muscle.
"Get back up on the bed, Sam. I'll bring dinner in to you," Al called from the kitchen. The younger man obeyed, using his right hand to pull his body onto the mattress. It was almost as awkward as when he'd first gotten back on his feet, but not quite as bad.
Sweeping into the room, Al placed a tray with a sandwich and a large glass of milk in front of his newly reinstated patient. "Eat it slowly, and don't rush it, pal."
"What is it?"
"Turkey and stuff." Al slumped in a chair by the bed, wondering how long it would take to make the other man eat. His tendency to quick flash mood changes was getting on his nerves; one moment, cooperative, the next belligerent and churlish. Like before, and he sure as hell didn't want to go through that again! "Just eat it, Sam," he said, trying not to sound irritated. It didn't work.
"You're angry."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Damn it, Sam! I'm not, just tired and worried about you. Have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately?"
"As a matter of fact, no."
"And I wouldn't, not for a while. You look nearly as shitty as you did when you came home. Would you please just eat that thing and drink your milk like a good boy?"
The other man took a cautious peek between layers of bread, eyeing his friend as if he suspected poison.
With a sweep of his hand, Al disregarded the expression, shrugging. It was his turn to feel the shakes, he decided. One hell of a night, and, now, fighting with the kid to eat something. He knew he couldn't handle much more of this.
In mid-bite, Sam noticed the tremble pass over his friend, the way his shoulders slumped, that bright look to his expressive eyes. Draining the glass in front of him, he tried to think of what to say to calm the older man so he wouldn't worry. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Extending his right hand, he held it out in invitation and smiled as Al grasped it tightly. "I'll do whatever you want."
"And you won't argue."
I might, just a little." He took the half-finished plate on the bed table and motioned for the other man to take his place at his side. Sighing, he leaned back, holding the lean body close, trying to soothe away the shakes that rolled through him. With his fingertips, he gently stroked the lined forehead, planting a soft kiss on Al's cheek. "I wanted so badly to change things. Make it better, perfect it."
"Once you take a break, you'll be thinking clearer." Al released a shaking breath. "I don't want you to talk about this Leap stuff, not for a while, okay? It's over, and onward and upward, understood?" His tone was even and quiet, settled. "You're home, and you've no reason to leave again."
Closing his eyes, Sam brushed his lips over his lover's, feeling the other man's mouth move beneath his, the strong arms encircling his shoulders. His eyes grew heavy as Al reached and clicked off the lamp by the bed, moving back to hold him carefully in the dark. Settling down into the pillows, Sam rested his head on Al's chest, the sound of his heart beating lulling him into sleep.
With gentle fingers, Al stroked Sam's head, pleased that he was resting and secure. It might not be too far down the road that nights like this could become a rarity, publicity and the Pentagon taking their toll on time together. Once the debriefing was over, and the press conference held, privacy would become a precious commodity. The photo taken of Sam at the farm had blown over like a bad dream, not generating enough mad press coverage to ruin things, not yet. Now was the lull in the storm, Al thought. Now was the time to go.
